Doctor. Uh, I mean, Johnny.” She emphasized his name. “Thanks so much.” She stood to go, relieved beyond her wildest dreams. How had this mattered so much to her in such a short period of time? She shrugged. All she knew was that her apology and his acceptance of it did matter. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Johnny-boy.
“Good, because I want you assigned to Annabelle for the rest of the week.”
“You do?” He trusted her nursing skills enough to ask her to take care of an extra-special patient. This was definitely progress on their ultra-rocky-start.
“Yes. Now would you please leave, or I’ll never get out of here tonight.”
Still smiling, she looked him in the eyes. His had softened the tiniest bit, but she could also see a slight change in attitude. Yes, she could. “Yes, sir.” When she reached the door, calm washed over her and she turned round. “See you tomorrow, Johnny.”
Already back at work, he nodded while writing, rather than look up. “Let’s keep that name between you and me.”
She’d accept that, too. This desperate need for him to like her would have to stop, but for now she was pretty darned glad she’d fumbled her way through the apology, and wondered how many other employees got to call their boss by their first name, even if only in secret?
* * *
John had to admit the sputtering woman on the other side of his desk had been strangely captivating. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that she was easy on the eye, energetic, full of life, and had a nice ass, too. When was the last time he’d noticed something like that? Her earnest and unrehearsed apology had done strange things to a few nerve endings in forgotten parts of his body. Not that he was into dominance and submission, but he really liked her baring it all, as it were, by nearly begging him to forgive her.
Hell, he should be the one apologizing to her. He’d treated her badly and had seen a flash of anger in her eyes, which she’d quickly covered up, and instead of calling him an ass, which he deserved, she’d taken the high road. She’d brushed off his remark with a mere flutter of her eyelashes and moved on.
That showed grit, and he liked grit in a woman.
He reached into a desk drawer, withdrew a bottle of water and took a long draw. Her Pollyanna attitude of be-nice-to-everyone was far from his own style, and probably a cover-up for her insecurities. A wry laugh escaped his lips. Who the hell was he to analyze anyone? His style was more make-nice-to-no-one because he didn’t give a damn. But he had to admit she had a special way with kids. And his staff.
Remembering how she’d given a horsey hip-ride to Karen in her clunky cast yesterday morning made John smile. She’d been in way over her head with that group of toddlers so how could he not have gone to save the day? He knew his kids. Knew pediatrics. That was his comfort zone.
Adults were the issue for him. He didn’t particularly like most adults, merely tolerated them. He had to get along with them if he wanted to continue to run the orthopedic department, and for the past twelve years his motto had been, Do what you have to do to survive, the kids need you.
How had he survived all these years without his Lisa? He pressed his lips together, allowing one little thought about Polly to slip inside his head. She oozed life, something he’d given up on, yet her vibrant approach to things really appealed to him. Maybe he wasn’t as far gone as he’d thought.
Looking around the ward that afternoon, when he’d returned from surgery, he’d seen a more cohesive staff. They had been talking to each other and helping each other, even joking. He’d never seen them so happy.
The question was, had his sour attitude spilled over to his staff, and had this Polly from Pennsylvania saved the day?
Her big blue eyes and trembling lips came to mind. Why had he had the urge to run his thumb over her lips to test how soft they were? More importantly, what was with the impulse he’d had to wrap his hand around the back of her neck and drag her to him to test those lips on his?
When was the last time he’d given a woman permission to call him Johnny? What was up with that? What else might he get her to beg for so he could grant her permission? Most importantly, what in hell were these crazy sexy thoughts she’d planted in his head?
Maybe Pollyanna wasn’t nearly as innocent as she let on. Well, guess what, dumpling, neither am I.
He guzzled more water and scratched his chest, surprised by his thumping heart. Antsy to finish his work and get the hell out of there, he veered his surprisingly sexed-up thoughts away from Pretty Polly and back to dictating his surgery reports for the day. Before he left he’d check on his kids, each and every one—like he did every day before he went home.
Maybe that was the reason he had been out of sorts yesterday at the bar. Maybe it hadn’t been because she’d gotten too nosey, or had threatened his resolve never to feel again, or because he’d wanted to go home and brood, which he had to admit was beginning to get boring, even for him. He’d blame it on not saying goodnight to his kids, because he hadn’t been ready to admit he was a man clinging so tightly to his past he’d forgotten how to socialize with the living.
Polly had rushed him away from work and he hadn’t had a chance to tell all of his patients goodnight, and things just didn’t seem right when he missed saying goodnight to his kids.
Yeah, he’d use that as the excuse for his behavior last night, otherwise he’d seem far too pitiful the next time he looked in the mirror.
THE NEXT MORNING Polly rode the hospital elevator up to her floor. A vibration in her pocket alerted her that a text message had come through her cell phone: B in NY in 2 wks. Have dinner with me? Greg
Rankled, since Greg had dumped her for another girl over a year ago, and she’d been heartbroken as well as angry at the time, she wrinkled her nose and shut off her phone with a harrumph.
“Bad news?” A familiar voice came from over her shoulder.
“Oh.” She turned round. “Dr. Griffin, I didn’t see you there.” There were several people she didn’t know in the overcrowded elevator but she hadn’t noticed him mostly because she had been lost in her thoughts and hadn’t been looking at anyone. Aching from her lumpy bed, already dragging from the daily rush to the subway, getting pushed and bumped the entire commute, and now hearing from an unwelcome voice from her past, she couldn’t begin to paste on a cheery face today.
John edged closer to her. “You don’t look happy.”
She lifted a corner of her mouth. “I’m not. Old boyfriend just texted me.” What did she care if he discovered that little miss Pollyanna from Pennsylvania was a sham, that her carefree moods were manufactured from hard work and years of practice.
“Sorry to hear that,” he said, sounding curiously sincere.
“About the boyfriend or not being happy?”
“Both.”
“Really?”
“Don’t act so shocked.” He gave her a John Griffin style smile, which meant it was hard to differentiate the smile between a grimace and/or gas.
“Do
